The Pain of Salvation
by cotton3434
Summary: Micah Salvati and Sandra Weaver have been chosen by RDA executives to carry out a high-priority, low-profile "ground retrieval" mission on Pandora. Salvati, however, has plans of his own, and puts events into motion that inevitably alter the planet's fate


"You ready?" Salvati asks, addressing me for the first time in ten minutes. He'd been silent ever since the obnoxiously green, seemingly never-ending forest below came into view.

"Ready," I reluctantly sigh back through my exopack mask. It's an obvious lie – there's no way in hell I could ever be ready for what's awaiting us – but I've grown so adept at deceit that even this probably sounds natural. It's how I got so far in life… but then, that's what led to my coming here. A cooperative ground-retrieval mission on Pandora. If they hadn't promised me the mother of all promotions, I'd be on Earth right now, comfortably bored out of my mind.

"No Na'vi detected in the vicinity," our pilot, Roach, announces. "You're cleared to drop," he adds, voice drained of emotion by the static com link.

"Roger," Salvati nods, standing and rubbing his hands together. "Time to go." He cocks his head my way when I don't follow suit. Grins like a jackass as he watches me tremble and take deep breaths in futile attempts to calm myself. I never imagined I'd be doing this. Going down there is the literal equivalent of committing suicide, from what I've heard; there's little chance of getting out alive – or out at all.

"Chickens went extinct a long time ago, y'know," Salvati mutters through pursed lips.

"So did eagles," I retort quietly. Annoying bastard. Sure, he might be living up to his fearless reputation now, but the moment we hit the ground…

Salvati sighs impatiently, as if he's actually looking forward to it. "Right, well… I'll go alone, if you want. 'Course," he grins sadistically, "if that's the case, you won't get that promotion you care so much about."

"I'll remember to shoot you before we get back," I grumble, forcing myself to my feet. If we get back.

Snorting, Salvati grabs the taut rappel line on the right side of the gunship. "Wouldn't be war without friendly fire," he chuckles before descending.

I wait several seconds before stepping forward to follow him, ignoring the age-old saying 'don't look down' only to immediately regret it. Expansive, sickening jungle stretches as far as the horizon and beyond, sporting several trees the size of small mountains and god knows how many animals. It's nature incarnate. The sight locks my legs in place, paralyzing me with fear.

Back on Earth, the few forests that remain generally mean one of two things: war, or imminent war. I've been deployed in ten such conflicts in the past three years, and I can safely say that the treacherous greenery equates to about as much of an enjoyable environment as hell itself – and that's only partially due to the fact that I was under fire half the time. With all the poisonous plants, ant hordes, snakes, and generally screwy wildlife, luck was a required job skill as far as survival was concerned, even without the added risk of gunfire.

Thing is, a lot of people – on our side, at least – were lucky. More than a quarter of the soldiers enlisted under RDA command over the years endured their stays. A pretty large quantity, considering the average fatality rates of the wars of the early twenty-second century.

Of course, that statistic didn't translate so well on Pandora. Fourteen years ago, the "best of the best" of these experienced soldiers, hired to serve as the security force for the RDA's mining operations, were nearly wiped out entirely. Out of fifty-three hundred, a mere three hundred and ten escaped alive… and of those lucky bastards, three hundred were the Marines ordered to stay behind to protect Hell's Gate.

The math is why I'm now frozen in place, staring downward in terror. Pandora swallowed all but _ten_ out of five-thousand. I'd known the risk I was undertaking when I accepted the offer, but now that I'm here the sheer reality of the odds is overwhelming. That promotion almost doesn't seem worth it anymore.

"Weaver?" Salvati's voice, crackling through the com link, startles me out of my petrified state. "The hell are you doing? The longer you wait, the more likely we're gonna have unwanted company!"

I blink repeatedly, stunned by the harshness of his tone. I should be used to it – it's the same depreciating military standard I've heard for years – but some quality to his speech demands utter compliancy, the sort that makes drill sergeants seem friendly in comparison. "S-sorry. Coming down now," I reply shamefully.

The roar of the Samson's rotors, so easy to ignore when inside it, becomes unbearably loud as soon as I begin the descent. The thunderous whirring can probably be heard for miles – no wonder Salvati's anxious.

I try not to pay attention to my surroundings as I descend, instead focusing only on the rope. As I reach the ground, however, I realize I might've made a crucial mistake in doing so; I'm still completely oblivious to my surroundings. _Sh*t._ Should've taken advantage of the bird's-eye view while I had the chance.

I don't have time to worry about it, as I learn the moment I let go of the rappel. "Large IR signature detected, three hundred meters, heading your way fast," Roach announces from the Samson. "Air support on standby."

I roll my eyes and shift to a defensive position, shouldering my assault rifle. "Already?"

"Roger," Salvati replies from… somewhere. He's nowhere in my line of sight – where the hell'd he go?

"Target approaching from your six-o'clock, Weaver," Roach mutters.

"Figures," I grunt back, whirling to face the threat. Of course, all I find are trees, dense underbrush, and every form of natural camouflage I can imagine. Great. "Salvati, where are you?"

"I'm… well, actually, I dunno where I am," he answers unhelpfully. "Seems I got lost already," he chuckles. "Looks like you're on your own."

I can't believe it. I'm about to be attacked by god-knows-what, and he's playing some stupid game with me?

"Ten seconds till, Weaver."

"Where the fu*k are you, Salvati?" I growl, glancing frantically from side to side. Still nowhere to be seen. No answer, either.

_He's deserted me,_ I realize. The thought is ridiculous – why would he run off so quickly? – but I can't shake it. Panicking, I shout, "Roach, where is he?!"

"Dunno," the pilot sighs distractedly, obviously more focused on the emerging threat. "Contact in three… two… one…"

Aside from Roach's countdown, there's no warning. No roar, no sudden parting of the underbrush, no panicked animals fleeing… just a sudden streak of purple hide and black teeth. Like a behemoth phantom, it pounces from the trees to land roughly ten feet in front of me. Opens its mouth soundlessly, displaying fangs more than two meters long. I've seen this thing before, in an encyclopedia... "The Thanator," it read, "is the most dangerous predator discovered on Pandora to date."

Even as I raise my rifle, I know it's too late. I'm looking death in the eyes. And even as I am, I can't help but be grateful – grateful that it ends now, rather than several hours of pointless struggle later.

In one fluid motion, the Thanator arches its back, crouches on its six legs, and lunges forward at a speed comparable to that of a bullet, jaws wide enough to engulf me entirely. It's all over in an instant – or it would've been, had I still been standing there.

* * *

AN: Standard disclaimer applies; all characters, including Pandora itself, are the property of James Cameron, etc.

Now that I'm no longer at any risk of being sued, I'd just like to say... crap. Two paragraphs into the next chapter and I can already tell it's going to be a long, drawn-out action scene :|

Anyway, feedback is greatly appreciated whether you liked it, loved it or hated it. So give feedback nao, and remember, sperm whales are people too. *goes to sleep*


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